Linus

Linus lives in a tent. The town mostly ignores him, some pity him, a few are cruel to him. When you befriend him and offer him a place to stay—a warm house, stability, acceptance—he says no. Because living in the tent is his choice. And in that moment, the narrative does something radical: it respects his decision. This is the art of writing outcasts and misfits: understanding the difference between voluntary and involuntary isolation, honoring autonomy, and recognizing that “fixing” someone can be another form of erasure. ...